Beginning of the End
by lecrayon
Summary: Because I couldn't wait for book seven. . .Bill's wedding, Godric's Hollow, and Voldemort's souls. First story, by the way!
1. Privy to Privet Drive

**Disclaimer:** All characters, descriptions, and inspiration belong to Ms. Rowling. No profit (except for my craving for HP being sated) is reaped from this attempt.

**A/N:** First fanfic ever submitted—but this has been brewing in my little head for some time. The events in this story follow along pretty much what is foreshadowed in _The Half-Blood Prince_, and I have done some research as well. Based on the information in the recent books and Ms. Rowling's interviews, I have managed to piece together some theories. I probably won't wander too much away from what is expected.

By the way, Hermione will NOT be a lovesick girly-girl in this one, and Ron will be slightly smarter and less hormonallydriven.

A thin young man with a trunk, and curiously, an owl in a cage, appeared suddenly at the corner of Privet Drive. A closer look revealed rumpled black hair that prodded into the back of his collar and a stooped look about him, as if he had carried a great burden a long distance. The sunlight glinting off his round glasses made an oddly blank expression appear on his face. His eyes were hidden anonymously under the shining lenses, but a wry sort of smile emerged.

Harry Potter walked briskly up the drive of number four, but paused at the front steps. He cautiously set down his luggage and ran his fingers through his hair, wondering how to approach the Dursleys after a year of absolutely no contact. Of course, they never corresponded regularly with him any way, but to Harry that year seemed like a decade. A decade, he reasoned, would be enough to make the Dursleys shrug off his existence.

Normally his uncle Vernon would have grudgingly picked him up from the King's Cross station after a school year, but Harry had foregone the train trip altogether. His best friend's parents had appeared at the front gate of Hogwarts on the last day of term.

Mr. Weasley had ventured an explanation (although quite a bit later; Mrs. Weasley took an extraordinary amount of time smothering Harry and Ron and fussing over their robes).

"We know that your uncle usually takes you home. But I—we—" he gestured vaguely at his teary-eyed wife—"thought it would be best for you to stay with the wizarding community for now."

He gazed apologetically at Harry, Mrs. Weasley now silently sobbing into his shoulders. "We know that Dumbledore wishes—wished . . ." Here his voice cracked and diminished to a pained whisper.

"—for me to return toPrivet Drivefor a while. Before I came of age. I know," Harry finished.

"But you can do that anytime before your birthday. For now, it's just too dangerous for you to run around with Muggles, especially . . . well, especially with the likes of them."

Their concern was understandable. After all, the Dursleys would probably refuse to acknowledge the fact that they were in danger, even if the Death Eaters came knocking at their door. They would have no way of protecting themselves, and would most likely turn on Harry if he tried to.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny returned to the Burrow after a few, hurried words with Professor McGonagall. Headmistress, now, Harry reminded himself. She agreed with the Weasleys' notion that he should be kept within range of magic. Two weeks of recovery followed; Hermione joined them in one, having told her parents that it was imperative for all wizards to stay close together, especially for Muggle-borns such as her. How very different this visit was. Mrs. Weasley took down her clock and buried it somewhere, brushing tears off of the corners of her eyes.

"I just can't stand to see everyone hanging in 'mortal peril,'" she had whispered, hands shaking as she stowed the faithful clock away.

A hush fell every morning with the owl post. An agonizing tension hovered, very much like the mist of the dementors that shrouded the area, until the front page of the Daily Prophet was perused silently in the kitchen. Most times, a guarded relief broke the air, but other times Mr. Weasley would look away in dismay. The untimely death of Dumbledore was met with renewed activity from the Death Eaters.

So Harry had spent a couple of—not exactly blissful, but more bearable, weeks with the Weasleys. A few weeks before July 31st, he realized that he needed to fulfill his promise to Dumbledore. The search for the Horcruxes would have to wait. He packed with regret, wishing that he could bring someone along to face the Dursleys with him. Ginny, predictably, demanded to leave with Harry, but he had adamantly refused.

Harry focused his eyes again, forcing himself out of a reverie involving Ginny and he zooming away on his Firebolt into the clouds . . . he knocked, apprehensively, at the door.

A few minutes passed without any reply, so he knocked again. Hedwig hooted in a reassuring manner, although her annoyance at being shipped once more to a place where she was so hated was apparent on their journey. This time, he heard a sharp voice on the other side of the door.

"Who is it?" Aunt Petunia's piercing soprano cut swiftly through the barrier. "We don't want any lawn-mowers or free estimates on new windows, so if you're planning on—"

"It's Harry, Aunt Petunia," he said heavily. "So please, open up."

A stunned silence met his words. He imagined the Dursleys exchanging frantic glances, and hoped that they _would_ open the door.

"I hope you remember Dumbledore's wish," he explained. "I need to stay for a while. At least, only up to my birthday."

If they remembered his birthday. He had no doubt, however, that their last meeting with Dumbledore was fresh in their memory; glass goblets nudging at one's forehead from mid-air would do that to most people. Unfortunately, the Dursleys were notfolks who would recall such an event with much good feeling.

He heard the lock slowly slide open and watched as Aunt Petunia's long neck turned to look at him. She stared in distaste for a while. Dudley seemed to be looking at something behind Harry.

"_He's _not staying, is he?" Aunt Petunia muttered. "I won't have that half-crazed old man shedding his beard all over the house."

A fury sped by sorrow welled up to his chest, and threatened to shoot out of his mouth. But he kept calm, willing himself to think of the promise. _Only a little while more with them here. Only a few more days. Only a few more days, and I can hex them to oblivion—no, no, no hexing . . . only a few more days and I'll never have to come back. _

"You mean Dumbledore?" he asked quietly. He saw Dudley bring his hand up to his temples; perhaps his last encounter with the great wizard was especially traumatic. "Dumbledore . . . he's gone. Dead."

"_Dead_?"

"Yes." Several moments passed, and the door cracked open slightly wider. Uncle Vernon had joined them, toes tapping on the wooden floor and a rolled-up newspaper tucked under his arm. "So let me in."

Harry thrust his trunk and Hedwig into the hallway, not waiting for a response from the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia looked shocked. Dudley had returned to his punching bag. Uncle Vernon, however, swelled with satisfaction.

"Kicked the bucket, did he? Well, there's one less fool to deal with in this world." He chortled. "I suppose one of those spell-thingies backfired, eh?"

Aunt Petunia snapped out of her momentary trance. "NO, Vernon."

Uncle Vernon stopped laughing and focused a confused expression on his wife. "What, Petunia?"

"I said, NO."

Harry looked up in surprise at his aunt. "What do you mean?"

She suddenly grasped his shoulder. "You're lying, aren't you? Tell me the truth: you're only saying that to make us pity you!"

Her nostrils flared, breathing harshly. Harry shook off her fingers. "Why would I lie about something like that?" He watched in astonishment as she clapped a horrified palm over her mouth.

"What's wrong?" Uncle Vernon turned toward Harry and bellowed: "_What did you do to her?_"

Before Harry could fling out his wand or his uncle could grab his collar, Aunt Petunia collapsed in a chair conveniently located near her. She leaned on her elbow on the armrest and curled her legs underneath herself. Harry assumed that this was the closest thing to a fetal position that a bony, full-grown woman with an elongated neck and equine features could attempt. Dudley appeared in the doorway, gazing confusedly at her.

"Mum?"

She shook her head, and closed her eyes. Uncle Vernon, Harry, and Dudley stood awkwardly around her chair, each glancing furtively at each other but avoiding eye contact. Hedwig flapped her wings nervously in her cage, alarmed by the silence. Uncle Vernon slowly moved toward Aunt Petunia.

"Look here," he began, his jaws sagging (and adding to his double chin), "I don't know what the ruddy hell is going on. No warning, nothing."

Aunt Petunia lowered her legs and squared her shoulders at this, patting down her hair brusquely. She stood up and walked off quite calmly to the kitchen, leaving her husband, son, and Harry looking aghast at her.

"I'll . . . I'll go put my stuff away, then," Harry said finally. He found a better grip on his trunk handle and swiftly ran upstairs. He did not want to be around for his uncle's explosion, especially because his presence would probably agitate him even more. _What in Merlin's beard was _that_ all about_? He nudged open the bedroom door with his toes and threw himself on the bed.

A ceiling fan twirled lazily above him, emitting a breeze neither cool nor cooling. The summer months were usually hot in Little Whinging, Surrey, but the heavy fog cast by the dementors were thwarting the sunlight and bewildering meteorologists. Harry remained motionless on the bed for a while, trying to keep in mind that only three more weeks had to be suffered in this house. A nagging thought always accompanied this self-imposed reminder: _Where will I go_?

The immediate answer was glaringly certain to Harry. He had resolved to go to Godric's Hollow as soon as he came of age and could apparate. There was something aching in a bittersweet way inside, something that constantly accompanied him and assuaged only slightly even with Ron's, Hermione's, or Ginny's comfort. This pang throbbed harder since Dumbledore's death, and beat painfully more so at night, when the darkness closed in and he hung in the balance of wakefulness and unconsciousness. It was not unlike loneliness, but Harry knew with experience that loneliness did not always fill one's heart like this feeling. Godric's Hollow kept on tugging and beckoning his soul.

Afterwards, however, he would have to find a place to stay. He was determined to avoid Hogwarts, even if it reopened, because he would be a danger to the other students. Dumbledore, Snape, Draco, and now he would leave, and there would be no more incentive for Voldemort to come knocking at the doors (at least, no more than anywhere else magical). The Weasleys would, of course, hurriedly offer the Burrow, but Harry couldn't ask so much of them. _Well—there was Bill's wedding to look forward to_, he thought with faint amusement. _And Ron's face when Fleur gives up her availability. _

Harry rolled onto his side to face the closed door. Godric's Hollow and the Burrow withered away in the face of his extreme curiosity; in all of his years with the Dursleys, the only time he had ever seen his aunt act so peculiarly was her reaction to Hagrid's revelation to Harry. Any mention of the wizarding world usually brought on a rabid shriek or a sullen glare from his aunt and uncle, but prolonged conversation elicited strange responses from Aunt Petunia. He long had a suspicion Aunt Petunia knew and felt a lot more than she let on.

Straining his ears, he tried to hear if anything unusual was taking place downstairs. He could only make out the muffled sounds of Dudley slamming his fists (and sometimes his entire body, if he was really frustrated) into the punching bag and the distinct snap of Uncle Vernon's newspaper being shuffled and folded as he read the pages. Out of the kitchen he heard nothing except dishes being washed and clinked together—perhaps more roughly than normal, he wondered pensively.

Why would the news of Dumbledore dying be so jarring to his aunt? Why would she _care_? Dumbfounded, questions whirled around in Harry's head as the sky outside gradually darkened. He kicked off his shoes and placed his glasses on top of the nightstand, gently massaging the corners of his eyes. The room was very dark now. _I thought she hated him, like all other aspects of the supernatural. She—she can't be guilty about hating him, can she? She's a _Dursley_, for goodness sakes'! But . . . why . . ._

The dim light from a lamp somewhere far off flickered; or was it his own eyelids? The ceiling fan slowly lost momentum, but the night was getting chilly any way. Hedwig's feathers ruffled as she put her head under her wings. _So you're sleepy too, huh . . .?_

His bones felt waterlogged, and the bed seemed to soak him in. The streetlight flashed on, making his eyes twitch for a second. They closed altogether, refusing to recover. The familiar ache slowly crept in, but Harry was too far gone to care . . .

CRASH!


	2. Petunia's LifeDebt

**A/N: **grins sheepishly Heh . . . heh . . . rather corny cliffhanger. But I'll make it up, I promise.

Harry sprang painfully upright. He bolted out of his bed, feverishly wiping his glasses. Hedwig's lamp-like eyes beamed through the thickness of the dark, allowing him to scrabble at the doorknob quite accurately. His shoes remained forgotten at the foot of the bed.

_Something just fell down and crashed._ _Or was _knocked_ down, _he thought darkly. He stumbled out of the room only to bump headfirst into the now-hardened paunch of Dudley.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY!" roared Harry, fishing in his back pocket frantically for his wand. Dudley aimed a kick at him. "I SAID GET OUT OF THE WAY!"

Dudley hesitated, noticing the brandished wand. Harry flung his arm out in front of his cousin. "Wait!"

He strode cautiously down the hallway, hissing occasionally at Dudley, who began to whimper. He almost made it to the stairs when his uncle's door flew open.

"YOU!" Uncle Vernon shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Harry.

Harry pressed his hand over his uncle's mouth (as distasteful as this was; Uncle Vernon had especially bristly mustache hairs springing over grossly plump lips). Uncle Vernon's eyes popped out maniacally, sputtering feebly under Harry's constraint. His gaze shifted to Harry's wand, now pointed at Dudley.

"Make one sound and I swear I'll hex him," whispered Harry harshly. "And don't let your wife get in the way, either."

He let go, leaving Uncle Vernon wheezing in outrage. "Petunia's not in here!" he managed to force out. "She's down there, wiping down the counter!"

"Then shut up and stay down."

Harry crept down the stairs as quickly and as noiselessly as he could, wincing with each creak. _Surely the Death Eaters couldn't have found me here—_

He stopped short, clutching the railing for support. A sight he never thought he'd see met him in the form of Aunt Petunia burying her head on her arms, cleaning gloves laying limply on the floor next to a shattered vase. Strands of hair had escaped the hard knob at the base of her neck, hanging over her forehead.

Harry stared, stunned, while a clock ticked crisply in the background. Finally, he turned on his heels and climbed back up. Uncle Vernon and Dudley remained motionless until he emerged at the top.

"Well?" Uncle Vernon snapped. "Why are you up so soon?"

_So if anything had happened, it was all up to me, huh? Pity you won't have me much longer._ The strangeness of the situation was enough, however, for Harry to bite back the words. It would be more than they deserved, but he decided not to sink to their level.

"No one broke in, but I think you should all go down anyway," he replied coolly. "I suggest you go see for yourself. She doesn't look very happy."

He hung back, sticking his hands in his pockets. He felt clumsy, although these people did not deserve his compassion. Intrusion into a private world always made him uncomfortable. Harry was almost at his door again when his ears caught something very interesting.

" . . . but it was a life-debt! Do you understand! Oh—god—what will all happen to us now . . ." Aunt Petunia babbled. Harry dashed to the stairs, but thought better. He returned quickly with a piece of Extendable Ear (courtesy of Fred and George) and lowered the string over the banister.

" . . . Oh—no—no . . ." She seemed to be sobbing hysterically. Harry craned his neck farther, bewildered. She was this upset over a _vase_?

"Petunia, it's just a vase! I'll—I'll buy you a new one first thing tomorrow," said Uncle Vernon distractedly. "We can all go to that European place, what's-it-called, er—"

" . . . I'm being punished, aren't I; I'm being punished for being so stupid! Ohhh . . ."

Aunt Petunia moaned. "Bring him down here—bring the boy—"

Harry froze, startled by this declaration. She didn't mean him, did she? He only just came! How could she blame him for anything? He barely managed to snatch up the Extendable Ear when his uncle came bursting onto the second floor. Uncle Vernon mopped his forehead with his handkerchief, tomato red from exerting himself. Harry sped by before his uncle could strangle him.

Downstairs, Dudley was crouched mutely next to his mother. He looked up at Harry's entrance, and shuffled onto the couch. Aunt Petunia was now picking weakly at the shattered glass on her otherwise spotless floor, but she merely dropped the pieces back down. She gasped like a fish out of water when Harry appeared beside her, and managed to hoist herself up. Taking a shaking breath, she began to speak.

(**A/N**: I would stop here, but that would be mean.)

"We're all going to die and go to hell."

There was a bit of a dramatic pause after this alarming statement in which Dudley twitched convulsively, Uncle Vernon nervously twisted his mustache, and Harry raised his eyebrows in cautious skepticism. _And?_

"And it's all your fault, boy." The inhabitants of number four, Privet Drive, glared wildly at Harry, who slowly and nonchalantly (he hoped) drew his hand across to his back pocket. Uncle Vernon looked as if he was preparing to throw himself onto Harry, but Aunt Petunia continued abruptly.

"Actually, it's your mother's fault."

_What the hell . . . _Harry blinked and curled his fingers around his wand. Seeing as everything he knew about his aunt was slipping away, perhaps his wand would now find it appropriate to vanish as well.

"I suppose it all started with that damned letter from that school of hers—yours," she nodded coldly at Harry. "But after she left, she could have turned away. She married Potter instead, and took a job at some wizard hospital."

_My mother worked at St. Mungo's!_

"She idiotically told your godfather about going into hiding. As if life wasn't unpredictable already," she laughed mirthlessly. "And what an awful mess _he_ was. I mean, I saw him with my own two eyes, didn't I?"

Harry worked his throat muscles in an effort to wet his mouth enough to say something. "_You_ met _Sirius_?"

Aunt Petunia fixed a beady eye at Harry. "Sirius? He didn't tell me his name, but he was bald and short."

_Wormtail._ Harry looked on in stony silence, suddenly devoid of innards.

"_And don't interrupt me, boy._ Terribly ugly, and smelly to boot. A fitting friend for your _abnormality_ of a father. He came after me one night when Vernon was away on a business trip, and told me that he was your godfather. I saw right away that he wasn't balanced. He kept asking me where 'Godric's Hollow' was. God, he nearly had me in tears until I had enough sense to call the police."

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat. "Petunia, you never told me."

"I'm telling you _now_. I almost had the police department when he used his wand to slice the cord." She wiped away an errant tear bitterly. "Thought I was going to die right then, along with Dudley. (Don't cry, Duddikins, Mum's alright.) I was pregnant then, you see. He had his wand pointed at me and everything, when he _sniffed the air._ I only heard a crack and he disappeared, and another crack when Dumbledore appeared. Don't ask me how he knew, but he saved my life."

"Did you tell him?" said Harry. "Did you tell him where my—parents—lived?"

_You betrayed your _sister. Harry swallowed hard, gritting his teeth with suppressed rage. _All these years I was forced to live with you, you—_

"Do I look stupid to you? I guess he found out, because a year later I was landed with you. Anyway, I told Dumbledore that your godfather was here. He looked fit to kill for a second, but I must have imagined it, because he turned around and told me in the most miserable voice that I was now serving a life-debt."

Uncle Vernon scratched his chin. "Eh—Petunia, dear—"

"Turns out even normal people can have a life-debt to wizards." She waved her hand impatiently. "Why else do you think I let Harry live here, Vernon? I didn't care that he were my nephew, and that he was in danger. Lily was dead to me since she was eleven. I didn't abandon him because I _couldn't_."

She shuddered and collapsed weakly on the couch next to her son. Harry registered dimly that she cradled Dudley's enormous head in her arms, wiping his face repeatedly with the hem of her apron, and that his uncle was sitting extremely stiffly at one end of the sofa. Harry turned away from this scene and quietly ran to his room.

It was ten o'clock now. Harry had returned around eight, but he could not believe that two hours had passed. His bed had turned cold in the night air during his time downstairs, and goosebumps sprang up on his bare arms. The pain at the bottom of his chest was now twice as big, but he did not know why. All he knew was that he learned never to take _anything_ at face value anymore.

So his aunt had found a loophole by treating him like dirt. But now that she was released from her life-debt, would she still let Harry remain in her house? Harry doubted that this emotional breakdown would change her in any way. After all, she had kept this giant secret for seventeen years. Harry shivered; he climbed in between the sheets. He felt like something cold was on the verge of slapping him, but stopped just before it met contact with him.

_My mother was a healer._

_Aunt Petunia served a life-debt to Dumbledore and is now released._

_My mother was a healer._

And slowly, the image of a red-haired woman with flashing green eyes became clearer in Harry's head. The dull ache in his heart thumped softer.

**A/N**: Rather short (and dark) chapter, but humor will make an appearance. Please review, and watch for Bill's and Fleur's WEDDING!


	3. Back to the Burrow

If Harry was expecting anything at all, he was disappointed. The next morning, and the mornings after that, Aunt Petunia pursed her lips in her usual manner and went about her business with absolutely no mention of that evening. Uncle Vernon proceeded to steal anxious glances at his wife whenever he thought nobody was looking; Dudley took it on his part to corner Harry whenever possible. With each slip that he gave Dudley, Harry consoled himself by thinking of ways to hex his cousin. After nearly having his front teeth knocked out, Harry thought darkly that Ginny's Bat-Bogey Curse would not be at all sufficient.

On the morning of July 31st, Harry stole downstairs very early, hoping that he could leave quickly without any confrontations. Each sneer from Dudley fresh in his mind, Harry debated whether to leave a few . . . surprises. (He could think of several ways to scare Dudley out of his wits, starting with his invisibility cloak.) An owl came during the night, dropping off a letter from the ministry:

Dear Mr. Potter,

Congratulations on turning seventeen. Having come of age, you are now permitted to perform magic outside of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This does not mean, however, that you may do so in the company of non-magic people (Muggles). Your new freedoms require much caution as well as responsibility, and we hope that you will not abuse your power.

Happy birthday.

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Mafalda Hopkirk

IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE

_Ministry of Magic_

The fact that he was now seventeen and a wizard adult did not thrill him as much as he once imagined; perks, of course, included not having to drag around his trunk manually, but the last time he had crossed a hurdle in the wizarding world, a giant—well, half-giant— had smashed down the door and had given him a pink-frosted cake.

Luggage in tow ("Accio socks!"), he crept into the living room. The window curtains were drawn, casting lacy shadows on the carpet from the peeking sun. He pointed his wand at the door.

"Alohomor—"

"Wait." A strained voice came from a high-backed chair turned away from him; Harry nearly dropped his wand.

"Er—Aunt Petunia?" Harry hazarded a guess. The voice seemed thick with emotion, so he wasn't too sure who it was.

"Hap . . . happy birthday, Harry," she said, with a queer choke in her throat. She stood up and faced Harry, wringing a cotton handkerchief in her hands. Harry wondered if he was still asleep, and if a cruel trick of his mind had just occurred. Either that or a Death Eater drank Polyjuice Potion to look like his aunt. _Or maybe . . ._

"I know that you've come of age, and that you're leaving," said Aunt Petunia slowly. Harry remained silent. She started again, "And—and I am entirely foolish for doing this, but—"

"Are you apologizing to me?" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. She looked offended for a minute in her characteristic manner, but her eyes softened.

"I'm not so sure," she said, looking at Harry in a strange way, "but I don't think Dumbledore would have wanted for us to part like this."

Harry considered lashing out on her. After all, he endured seventeen years of abuse and hardship at her pleasure, but he relaxed when she mentioned his old headmaster. She was right, for once (in a good way). He sighed, and let his wand arm hang limply.

"I don't hate you, Aunt Petunia." Every memory of injustice and hatred rose up in indignation, shouting at Harry to take his revenge: _Just go; ignore her! She doesn't deserve your forgiveness. Remember Aunt Marge and her dogs! Remember Dudley's diet! Remember the cupboard under the stairs! _ He pushed up his glasses wearily, and leaned against the front door. "I don't think Dumbledore wanted us to forever hate each other, either."

She stepped closer to him, hesitating. "You won't come back again, will you?" It was not a question. Both of them knew the answer to that. Harry shook his head, avoiding her gaze. Aunt Petunia walked to the door and opened it for Harry.

"I think—I know—that you could have opened that for yourself."

Harry walked outside and turned to look back at his aunt. She nodded slightly, crossing her arms, for once not in a forbidding stance. A bird chirped brightly behind him; Harry took the cue and threw his invisibility cloak around him.

Back at the Burrow, Harry found himself whisked away by Ginny, Ron, and Hermione before he could make much sense of what had happened with Aunt Petunia and he.

"Muggles treat you okay?" demanded Ron.

"You can do magic now, like us!" squealed Hermione.

"Well?" At this, Harry grinned and kissed Ginny on her cheek.

"Strangest thing happened there, you know," said Harry, sitting at the kitchen table with the Weasleys around him. "I found out that my aunt was serving a _life-debt_ to Dumbledore."

Ron gaped at him. "A _life-debt?_"

"Yeah. Oh, and my mum used to work at St. Mungo's."

"No wonder Slughorn went on so much about her potion-making; she was good enough to be a healer!" Hermione said. Ginny looked curiously at Harry, like she was wondering whether to tell him something.

"What about your aunt? What happened with her?" Ron said interestedly. "I mean, I thought she wanted nothing to do with us."

Harry told them, and smiled wanly at their faces. It was not a happy subject. "So that's why she kept me."

Ginny patted his arm absentmindedly, and then broke out into a laugh. "You haven't asked yet about Phlegm's wedding."

"Phlegm?" he repeated blankly. _Ah—_"Oh, yes, Fleur—how—how is she?"

"She eez fine, thank you." Everyone turned to the doorway. _Trust Fleur to make a dramatic entrance,_ Harry thought, as they watched her pause slightly before entering, as if to punctuate the fact that she was now in their presence. The silver-golden light radiating from her hair filled the room again, making Ron turn pale green. "She eez very excited for 'er wedding tomorrow!"

Fleur beamed at Harry, and hugged him lightly (here a rattling noise came from Ron's throat, and Ginny whispered loudly, "Honestly!"). "You will make a wonderful date with Ginny. She eez, of course, one of my bridesmaids! Gabrielle will come late-air zees afternoon."

"How's Bill?" asked Harry. _Beauty and the beast, _he thought randomly.

"He 'as healed completely. Although," Fleur said ruefully, "'ee's leg will nevair be ze same."

Ginny giggled. "That doesn't really stop him from chasing after you, does it?"

"My Bill does not _chase after me_." Fleur drew herself up to her full height and said airily, "He 'as already caught me."

Hermione choked, and Ginny tittered behind a cupped hand, nudging Harry slyly. Ron cracked his knuckles and crossed his legs.

"Are Charlie and Forge here today?" Harry rushed in defense of his best mate.

Ron shook his head, looking peeved. "They're out at the Ministry, getting permission to have a large group of people together in Muggle territory. I think Fred and George just want a chance to promote their new product."

"Really? What is it?" The last time Harry had been to their store in Diagon Alley, he received several pieces of merchandise for free. Harry looked forward to their future inventions with a slight twinge of guilt, knowing that his galleons went to a joke-shop that Mrs. Weasley only just made peace with. There was something brazen and almost repulsive about selling toilet-humor products in the middle of a war against Voldemort. Fortunately, that would have been true for anyone other than the twins.

Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking for all the world like Professor McGonagall. She pulled out a card from her pocket and cleared her throat. "'Ever been caught in a sticky situation? Ever wanted a solution for a hair-raising problem? Then this is the product for you: The Best Get-Away Ever! Befuddle your enemies with a combination of pepper eye spray, authentic-sounding banshee-blaster screams (that only they can hear), and stinkbombs that are nobody's business. We fully guarantee that it will cause stinging and watery eyes, explode ear drums, and make them never want to smell again all at once. While they close their eyes, fold their ears, and pinch their nose in agony, make your unforgettable, Best Get-Away Ever!'"

She looked disapprovingly over the card at Harry, who stifled a roar. Fleur looked mildly impressed. "Zey are very clever and funny, ze boys are."

"Actually, this is another thing that the Ministry is putting orders in for," said Ginny. "It's a quick and quite effective escape if you're ever cornered in some abandoned alley somewhere."

"Guess who their tester was?" spoke Ron moodily, "They told me that if they dropped the ball in front of me, they would give it to me for free. 'Course, I thought that it was just some silly football that tap-danced or something."

Harry silently resolved to ask Fred or George for the full details.

The rest of the Weasleys crowded into the kitchen, looking tired and harassed. Mr. Weasley sat down heavily, casting his newspaper onto the table. Harry looked quickly at him.

"No, nothing happened," said Mrs. Weasley briskly. She sat down, too. "We've been setting up the back meadow for tomorrow since dawn. Oh, and welcome back, Harry." A wave of her wand brought delicious-smelling bread and plump sausages to the table. Looking decidedly cross, she slid plates full of food to each person seated rather wildly.

"Eat."

"I thought she and Fleur were best friends now," Harry whispered to Hermione. She leaned in a bit closer.

"Well—they _are_, but Mrs. Weasley's been a little busy lately, with the wedding and all." She laughed softly. "And Fleur isn't making it any easier."

"Do you theenk zat ze red roses would look best on moi? Or ze pink roses—tell me, Harry," Fleur said suddenly, preening. "But on Ginny . . . we cannot have her 'air next to ze pink _or_ red. Maybe just white."

Ginny stiffened. "See what I mean?" whispered Hermione back.

"Oh—why don't you ask Ron?" Harry glanced at Ron mischievously. "I don't really know too much about flowers." He watched in glee as Ron's face blossomed into flaming red.

Fleur looked at Ron expectantly, who stabbed clumsily at a piece of ham that had just slid off of his fork. "Yes, Ron, what do you theenk, my new brother?"

Ron dashed his face under the table, chasing after a rolling slice of potato. Hermione sighed in exasperation, and grabbed his shirt collar, vice-like. When he surfaced, Ron didn't look up. Harry wondered if Hermione finally made peace with Ron's infatuation with his future sister-in-law.

"Um . . . any one would look okay," muttered Ron. Fleur stooped closer, trying to hear him, her beautiful curls spilling onto the tablecloth next to Bill.

"Well, we only have white roses in our garden, so we'll have to make do with those," said Mrs. Weasley. She smiled a tiny bit. "You're right—pink and red would be awful."

"But zey are so _romantic_!" Fleur exclaimed, distressed. Bill put his arm around her and spoke into her ear tenderly:

"The wedding will be romantic either way."

Ginny and Hermione rolled their eyes, while Harry stuffed his mouth with his buttered toast in an effort not to laugh hysterically at the melodrama unfolding in front of him. For a while, as the family ate together in the bright kitchen, Harry forgot that he was going to visit his parents' graves, and that he would have to face Voldemort sooner or later. He squeezed Ginny's hand under the table, looking into her dancing eyes, and felt the burden on his shoulders lighten.

**A/N**: The wedding WILL HAPPEN in the next chapter. I got carried away a little here.


	4. Beauty and the Beast

**A/N**: Thank you to the (few) people who reviewed! I'm terribly flattered.

* * *

"Wake up, mate," Ron grunted from his side of the room. Harry rolled over and groaned.

"Why, what time is it?" Harry noticed that Ron had his face hidden in the shadows. "I thought we went to bed pretty early."

"Oh, we did, but mum wants us to help with the decorations."

_Decorations?_ "Wh—what decorations?" Harry felt himself panicking slightly. He realized, for the first time, that this was the first wedding he ever attended.

"The flowers, the chairs, making anti-intrusion spells look pretty," said Ron with a grimace, "the usual."

Harry sat up and ruffled his hair, watching Ron pull on his socks and shoes. He grinned suddenly. "Hey, you're okay with Bill marrying Fleur, right?" Ron never seemed to quite shake off the side effects from being around a part-veela. Hermione never seemed to quite forgive Ron for acting like a blind, deaf, and mute around Fleur.

"Why! Do you reckon that I'm _not_ alright?" Ron said anxiously. "Do I look like I care too much for her—I mean, for the wedding?"

"Ron, it's perfectly natural to fancy a veela," Hermione's voice purred from the door. She was carrying a load of laundry. "You're an adolescent, and still very immature. Why else does she only affect you?"

Ron flushed. "I don't—I don't fancy Fleur," he began hotly. "I thought we went over this before, 'Mione!"

Hermione ignored him. "Here are your dress robes—no Ron, you're wearing your _new _ones—and clean socks. Mrs. Weasley wants you to keep them nice up until the last minute, so don't wear them yet."

"Um—Hermione?" Harry asked tentatively. "What does it mean by helping to decorate?"

With a loud crack, Fred and George apparated into the room. "Hey, look, we're all here!" exclaimed Fred with contagious cheer.

"Up yet, Harry?" said George pleasantly. "I'm rather tired of Mum shouting only at us."

"What do you mean, only you two?" Ginny huffed, emerging from the doorway with white flowers tangled in her hair. "I don't see you guys being yelled at for having too much hair."

Ron glared at everyone. "Hey, we don't need any help getting dressed here!"

Harry was quite aware that he was in his pajamas in front of Ginny. He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant about it. "We'll be right out, don't worry."

Hermione, George, and Fred apparated, leaving Ginny looking annoyed. "I hate it when I'm the only one who has to walk down the stairs." She turned around and left, yanking an entwined rose out of her hair.

Harry and Ron finished dressing in the comfortable silence that followed. Harry stopped in front of the window, puzzled. He knew there was something missing—

"We got rid of that ghoul in the attic," said Ron behind him, as if reading his mind. "We paid a few professional exterminators—Mum's _really_ happy about Dad's promotion now."

"There are paid professionals who get rid of ghouls in attics?" Harry said relatively calmly. He was quite used to remarkable statements said in matter-of-fact way.

"Oh, yeah. They do ghosts, poltergeists, and disembodied voices, too—" Ron paused, stretching his arm to the top of this dresser to snatch at his wand, "—although for poltergeists they ask for a lot more. Imagine trying to chase Peeves out of Hogwarts."

They jumped when a shriek rose from the field just outside of their window. Hurrying over, they saw a cloud of darkness enveloping Mrs. Weasley and the twins racing gleefully away from her.

"Looks like they need our help." Harry watched Ron apparate, and apparated himself. _Technically_, since he hadn't passed his apparition exam, he wasn't supposed to, but the Ministry gave precious little attention to apparitions these days. In the case that an illegal apparition occurred, it was dismissed as something unavoidable, especially with Death Eaters running around.

Outside, the blanket of Peruvian Darkness Powder had dissipated, revealing a Mrs. Weasley swelling in rage. Mr. Weasley was reading the Daily Prophet distractedly and bumping into chairs that George kept conjuring from afar to place in his way on purpose. Everyone else was running around trying to get things set up.

"Who else is coming, by the way?" asked Harry, turning to Ron.

"Some of the Order, I think, but not all, because Moody doesn't like the idea of putting all of the members in one place. Too convenient, he says. But I know for sure that Tonks, Lupin, and Fleur's family are coming."

Harry understood Moody's concern. After all, Death Eaters could penetrate through Muggle-repelling charms. He decided after a moment of consternation that everyone needed some relief.

Fleur stood next to the arch that she and Bill were supposed to be married under. A wrinkle appeared on her otherwise flawless forehead.

"Zees eez too small," she decided after a while. She flicked her wand casually, and a magnificent, gilded, canopied one took its place. Mrs. Weasley, turning around, looked as if she'd been run over by a truck. She closed her eyes, and Harry could tell that she was counting to ten.

"Fleur, dear, don't you think that it's—well, that this is a little _too much_?" Mrs. Weasley said with clenched teeth and a forced smile. "It will take the attention away from that beautiful dress and tiara."

Fleur considered this, another wrinkle appearing on her nose. She tapped her chin and placed a delicate hand on her hip. She then smiled broadly.

"You know, I theenk zat you are right!" With a small pop, the old archway reappeared, the grand one disappearing.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who had just joined them, surveyed the scene with amusement.

"Almost makes you want to avoid getting married, doesn't it," said Hermione. Ron glanced swiftly at her. Harry noticed a faint smile lurking around Hermione's mouth with a jolt. "Well . . . looking at this crowd, it doesn't."

_Ron and Hermione, huh,_ thought Harry. It was too preposterous to even think of; his two best friends getting married was a notion that Harry quickly erased from his head. (**A/N**: smirk)

* * *

A few hours later, Harry rushed up to Ron's room to wash up and dress. He was sweaty from de-gnoming the garden while Mrs. Weasley plucked various bunches of flowers, muttering and humming alternately. Ron was stuck with arranging the flowers and binding them to the rows of chairs with a sticking charm, which Hermione secretly redid behind him with her own.

Harry had just finished pulling on his dress robes, trying to dry his hair. He finally retreated to using a towel. It was one thing to not be allowed to dry his hair with magic, but it was quite another to be allowed and founding out that you were incapable of doing so. Rubbing his hair morosely, he heard a sharp rap at the door. He just strode over to open it when Ginny flew inside.

Her long red hair was elaborately curled, flowing down her shoulders. Harry gazed for awhile, and finally managed to cough out:

"So no white roses in your hair?"

Harry dimly registered Ginny's nostrils flaring before she began to fume. She shook out a dress in front of Harry and thrust it at his face.

"_This_ is what she wants me to wear!"

It was the "pale gold" dress that Fleur mentioned last Christmas. It was a very beautiful affair, silken and light, but the cut was—flattering, to say the least.

"I think it looks . . . fine," said Harry uncertainly. "Why don't you try it on, Ginny?"

Ginny swept the dress from his face, and tossed her hair. She rolled her eyes and muttered "Men!" under her breath. She turned around to leave, and eyed the towel hanging by Harry's side. Pointing her wand at his hair, she sighed. Harry immediately felt his wet hair dry (perhaps to a bit of an extreme; it assumed a straw-like texture). (**A/N**: Remember in book VI, we found out that underage magic would only be caught if there were no wizards around, so Ginny's drying spell would not have been detected.) Before he could utter a sheepish thanks, she left. Ron suddenly materialized.

"Saw that, didn't you," he said furiously. "NO little sister of mine is going to wear something like that!"

Harry tried to nod his head in agreement. Fortunately, Ron was pacing around the carpet, shaking his head. "She can't be serious. Gabrielle is, like, eleven!"

They heard Mr. Weasley's wearied voice from below. "Boys, hurry up! Your mother wants you down right away to—er—_inspect_ you."

Ron was still breathing heavily when they apparated to the now-ready lawn. Mr. Weasley looked apologetic as his wife hurtled at them, brushing Ron's hair and clucking impatiently at Harry's hopeless case. She adjusted their collars and picked off nonexistent specks of dust lovingly, and drew back to admire them. Harry was just beginning to feel self-conscious when Hermione, in her new lavender robes, met up with them. She seemed to blush slightly under Ron's gaze, but gently ushered out a young girl from behind her.

"This is Gabrielle, Fleur's sister." Hermione smiled indulgently down at her. "Gabrielle, do you remember Ron and Harry? Ron was underwater with you a few years ago during the Triwizard Tournament, and Harry saved you."

Gabrielle was the spitting image of her older sister. Harry could tell that she would be just as lovely as Fleur, and hoped that Hermione's affection wouldn't disappear because Ron had another veela to deal with.

"Hello, 'Arry, and Ron," she spoke, revealing rows of tiny, perfect teeth. Her dress, Harry saw with relief, was less of—or rather, more of—a dress than Ginny's. A bouquet of white roses and lilies was dangling elegantly from her fingers. "It eez wonderful to meet again. Well, I must 'elp my sister get ready."

"You'd better sit down, you two," said Hermione as they watched the girl prance daintily away. "Tonks and Lupin are already seated." She pointed at the cluster of tables.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron made their way to the Auror and old professor. Harry noticed that Lupin was looking less peaky than normal, and that Tonks had changed her short pink hair to glossy brown locks for the occasion. They waved at the three to their table.

"Wotcher, Harry," said Tonks. She was smiling again, and was seated very close to Lupin. Harry inwardly grinned at the fact that his father's last remaining best friend was not quite alone in the world any more.

"Quite a gathering today, don't you think?" They followed Lupin's gaze to what had to be Fleur's parents and the Weasleys trying to communicate. There was an uncomfortable silence between them, broken by a shaky laugh from Mrs. Weasley. A few words and several mimes later, they seemed to be getting along fine, although Mrs. Weasley was eying Mrs. Delacour's fairy-like shoes with disdain bordering on jealousy. A few paces from them, Charlie and Kingsley Shacklebolt were talking animatedly next to a brooding Alastor Moody. His special eye was roving around rather sickly, throwing an arm across Charlie and Kingsley occasionally and speaking intently in their ears. The two looked like they were humoring him.

The plush lawn was soon filled with a small amount of people, chattering and laughing easily. Harry found himself seated next to Great Auntie Muriel, whose protruding stomach made a shelf that she rested her hands upon. She was a kindly woman who had a tendency to pinch Hermione's cheek and kiss an embarrassed Ron at intervals. Finding Harry next to her, she was taken aback for a minute, but did not make any remarks denoting his unusual celebrity.

A hush sped quickly through the tables when Fleur, Ginny, and Gabrielle made their debut. Fleur carried herself with a smugness that left no one puzzled; Great Auntie Muriel's goblin-made tiara sparkled spectacularly in the sunlight, although it did not entirely eclipse Fleur's veela-induced beauty. Ginny smiled through her teeth, but Harry could tell that she was hiding a very disgruntled state of mind. He tried not to think too much about how—she—looked in her dress, which appeared to be altered carefully. He thought that it would be unseemly, especially with her brother sitting close to him, so he focused instead on Fleur's glowing tiara. It made his eyes hurt so much that he couldn't see, anyway.

(**A/N**: Ms. Rowling has yet to elaborate on wizarding weddings, so I'll zoom through the customary details.)

The ceremony was simple; Bill's and Fleur's "I do's" were very genuine, and left Mrs. Weasley in a pool of her own sobs. A pained expression flitted across the bride's father's face when the couple finally kissed, but he clapped hard with the rest. They stood up from their seats much later to watch Fleur and Bill walk, hand in hand, to a special clearing in the meadow. A bright array of sparks flew when they apparated, (although Harry missed it when he blinked his eyes. This was not something he expected.) which shaped themselves into a sign: "JUST MARRIED—OFF TO THE PYRENEES!"

By this time, it was dusk and the guests were becoming noticeably nervous. One by one, they hurriedly said their goodbyes to the Weasleys and Delacours, apparating suddenly. Even before the first star showed, the field was empty except for a few tipsy stragglers.

Mrs. Weasley cleared the table setting with a wave of her wand, nearly leaving Ron to tumble onto the floor. He scowled as he tottered unsteadily, trying to regain his balance after the chair disappeared from under him. Hermione grasped his arms tightly.

"It's your fault for not getting up to help with the cleaning." Ron scowled again, but a faint pink tinged his cheeks when Hermione released him a little too casually.

The night air was chilling; they were herded roughly inside by Mrs. Weasley. While they were standing around the fire in the hearth that only emitted light, Hermione looked up suddenly.

"You know, I've always wanted to go to the Pyrenees Mountains on my—"

Before she could drop another shameless hint, Harry hastily changed the subject.

"Does anyone actually _know_ where Godric's Hollow is?"

* * *

**A/N**: Ron and Hermione are really much too young to be thinking about marriage, but then if you think about it, Fleur is only around twenty. And like Mrs. Weasley said in book VI, the threat of Voldemort was causing everyone left and right to rush into a permanent relationship. But I doubt that a lot will happen between them—Lupin and Tonks are first! 


	5. A Figure of Speech

**A/N**: I think Tonks and Lupin are good together, too!

* * *

The sun rose pinkish like a blush slowly unfurling. It seeped through the clouds and the fog and gently blew itself in through the windows and cracks of a many-storied house, seeming to encourage the tottering levels to stay up, even for just a second longer. The house squared and steadied itself, daring a certain snowy owl to come perch at its rooftop.

Harry looked uneasily into his cup of pumpkin juice, trying not to think about the horrible situation he was in. Ron rolled an apple under his palm, giving a rhythm that thundered down the aged wood and to the mug Hermione was holding with both hands. She took a slow and careful swig of her tea, taking time to swallow so that someone else would be required to talk.

These were his best friends. They had been with him through the Sorcerer's Stone incident, the Chamber of Secrets, and the Marauders' reappearances. He forced himself not to bring into light the fact that although they had been at his side up until the last minute, it was he who had to face everything. He was not at all resentful; in fact, he was grateful that Ron and Hermione did not have the awful memories that resided in his mind. But Godric's Hollow he would have to do entirely alone.

Ron stopped playing with his apple and coughed loudly. "No arguments, Harry, we're coming with you."

"We told you at Dumbledore's funeral that we would be with you always," Hermione followed quickly.

"You are. I'm not saying you aren't," began Harry.

"Then what are you saying, mate? That wasn't a figure of speech."

"This is something different." Harry stared straight into Hermione's eyes, hoping that she, of all people, would understand. "Alright, I'm worried that it'll be dangerous, but this is something different."

"You already said that several times already." Hermione looked back at him just as forcibly. "What's your point?"

How could he tell his best friends that this was private? How could he tell them that when he went to his parents' house and his parents' grave, he didn't want anyone to be there with him and watch him—he wasn't too sure what he would do—? And there was always the threat of dementors. And/or Death Eaters.

"You know, I'm really sorry to say this, but you've become really—well, almost _paranoid_," said Hermione softly. She and Ron exchanged a glance, and Harry felt his insides hollow.

"Paranoid?"

"Almost twitchy." Ron smiled sadly at him. "This is no different from other times."

So they thought he was twitchy. He could feel little explosions in his head, conflicting emotions that ran into each other and multiplied, like Fred and George's fireworks. It wasn't as if he could get mad at them. He wasn't annoyed, either. The closest he could get was selfishness, but a small voice from somewhere in the back of his mind told him that it was something else. He—he wasn't—he couldn't be—

"We're not afraid of what's out there," said Ron.

Harry was afraid; he was frightened like no other time in his life that he could remember. He could feel a dementor rearing its shadowed head somewhere.

Another uncomfortable minute sitting in a chair that had a splinter poking uncomfortably in some spot that he could not quite pick out, and Harry suddenly put his cup down. The juice was warm from his touch and from an hour left without being drunk.

"Do you really want to know why?" said Harry. He guarded his words carefully so that his friends would not take offense. He guarded _himself_ carefully so that _he_ would not sound offended. He could not help dragging it out. "Do you really want to know why I want to go to Godric's Hollow alone?"

Ron looked up at the ceiling, exasperated, in response. "What do you think we've been trying to find out for the last hour?" Hermione shot him a look that told plainly of something along the lines of, "You've still got the emotional range of a teaspoon."

Harry cleared his throat and avoided their burning gazes. "I don't know what I'll see, and I don't even know what I'm expecting."

His excuse sounded pitiful even to his ears.

"Does it look like we're convinced at all?" Hermione crossed her arms, and prodded gently with her eyes.

"I'm scared of what I'm going to face." Harry felt Ron and Hermione freeze up in their seats, and cringed as he wondered what they were thinking. He heard footsteps on Ginny's floor, and hoped against hope that she wouldn't feel compelled to come downstairs. They had deliberately met in the kitchen at daybreak to talk amongst themselves, and Ron refused point blank to allow his sister in. "She might be your girlfriend, Harry, but there's no way we're even going to _discuss_ her coming along with us. Mum would kill me if she knew that _I_ was going—and yes, Harry, I am."

There they were in silence, each tensed and prepared to think up some story if Ginny came along. The sounds stopped after they heard a toilet being flushed. Harry could tell they switched to being concentrated at him, but no one moved. The apple rocked slightly when a breeze wafted in from the open window.

"That's why we want to come with you Harry," said Hermione, voice breaking. She squeaked as Harry stood up suddenly and walked to face the window. He heard Ron's chair screeching on the floor as he turned to look at Harry's back.

"You would think differently if you were going to visit your mum's and dad's grave." Harry had put back saying it for a while, but it came in a flood when that wind rushed through his hair and seemed to liberate him. "You would think differently if you weren't about to return to the place where you were once born, loved, and almost killed. You don't know what it's like, wondering if the house is still there, whether there's any trace left of your parents, whether anyone there _cares_."

He poured this all out calmly, facing the garden outside. A stray lawn gnome crawled out of its hole and scratched its leg, yawning and baring dirty teeth. A flap of wings told him that Hedwig was still out hunting. A stifled sob came from the direction of where Hermione was sitting, but nothing else.

"I'm going to ask Lupin to tell me where Godric's Hollow is," Harry continued. "I can apparate there." He turned around and watched Hermione tap Ron's shoulder's, motioning for him to follow her upstairs. She took Ron's hand in hers very quietly, and glanced back once last time at Harry. They rounded the corner and Harry heard the soft, measured footsteps go up and above him.

Then the pain inside trembled so violently that Harry gasped. Hedwig suddenly flew in the window and clutched her talons tightly on Harry's arm. Her unblinking eyes focused meaningfully at Harry.

"I'm doing the right thing, aren't I?" Harry said to no one in particular. With another penetrating squeeze, Hedwig released him and flew off again. Harry sat at the table for another hour, anticipating the full rise of the sun. More flurried sounds came from upstairs, and he knew that the inhabitants of the Burrow would be down very soon.

* * *

Lupin and Tonks faced him on the kitchen table, searching with their eyes. Tonks' cheery grin slid off her face when she saw Harry clutching the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and exchanged another glance similar to Ron's and Hermione's with Lupin. Harry wished that they would not pity him.

"I want to go to Godric's Hollow." Lupin stiffened visibly, and Tonks reached out with her hand at Lupin. "Professor, can you tell me where it is?"

Lupin sighed and shook the hair out of his eyes. "Do you remember that Dumbledore was your parents' Secret Keeper?"

Harry had forgotten that. _Oh, no—_

"Well, now that he's—gone, he would have taken the secret to his grave."

The small child in Harry cried out loudly, but Harry swallowed hard. "Does that mean that no one can ever know or go to Godric's Hollow?"

"No. There is more to it," said Lupin, smiling encouragingly. "Wizarding law dictates that when both the Secret Keeper and the Secret Givers have passed away, the secret is released into the world. It assumes that there is no use in putting magic to a place that no longer needs it."

Harry closed his eyes for a while, letting a sort of relief fill him. It was not all relief, oh no, because part of him was hoping that he wouldn't have to face it, hoping that the ache would just float away and become part of the history of his family. When he opened his eyes again, Lupin was staring at him with a mixture of pity and understanding, and Tonks was looking away.

"So will you tell me where to go?" A long, pregnant silence met his words, in which Harry prepared for the worst and Lupin inhaled and exhaled shakily.

"But are you sure you want to?" said Lupin. "I am the last of James's true friends, Harry, and I feel as though I should—well, at least try to take the place of your father and Sirius. Impossible shoes to fill, I know, but I'm speaking from their memories."

Lupin's threadbare coat shivered visibly with Lupin's clasped fingers, and Harry remembered that Lupin felt the loss of James and Sirius just as much as he did. "I—I think that I have to, Professor."

"Harry, no one is requiring you to visit Godric's Hollow. In no way will it help bring them back from the grave."

"I'm not trying to find them," said Harry. "Well, not them physically. This is something that I want to do, what I've always wanted to do, before . . . before whatever comes my way and it's too late to bring back the past."

"You're making it sound like you're saying your final goodbyes," spoke Tonks for the first time. "We're not going to let you think that you're going to die soon."

But Lupin was not listening. He watched Harry fidget for a while with a loose piece of string from the hem of his shirt.

"I think I understand." He stood up and walked away, and Tonks looked uncomfortable for a while, and then followed him.

* * *

The morning was still for another half hour, and Harry drank the remaining dregs of juice from his cup. He wasn't sure what Lupin was telling him. _So is he saying that he'll give me the directions?_

The answer came when Hedwig flew back in and dropped a letter onto Harry's lap. It was from Lupin; Harry fumbled with the envelope and pulled out a hastily-written piece of parchment:

_Dear Harry,_

_I think it will be easier for both you and me to communicate this way. There is too much pain involved for both of us, and I don't want to give the impression that I'm being overprotective. _

_I know that you are no more the adolescent you were before Sirius's death. What you said to me proves that you are old enough to deal with the truth, and the truth is what I'll give you; I won't hide my opinion and filter out things that a teenager wouldn't want to hear. _

_Dumbledore told me last year about the Horcruxes. He told me that it was a terrible burden to place on your shoulders, even if you were, indeed, the Chosen One. It frightens me—more, I think, than it frightens you, that it is up to you to kill off Voldemort piece by piece. Your other brushes with death had you with the people who cared very much for you. You were extremely lucky, I won't deny that. But now your guardians have been killed off, one by one, and you are alone. Ron and Hermione, intelligent and as well-meaning as they are, cannot follow you to this path._

_Loneliness cannot be much of a stranger to you. I think that I am right, however, in saying that the future is not lonely. In the past, you were a child, and not having physical company would have traumatized you. You are not a child anymore, Harry, and this is why you have to go to Godric's Hollow. It is, in a way, a final goodbye. You have to part with what happened before in order to truly set off and do what adults do—that is, fulfill their destiny, as clichéd as this might sound. _

_As I've said before, it is impressive that your greatest fear is fear itself. You might feel nervous in facing the death of James and Lily, but it is not fear. If you were truly frightened, you would not be so determined to go._

_Godric's Hollow is a place that I have visited many times while your parents were still alive. _(Here, Harryread Lupin's directions, and saw that many lines were crossed out as if Lupin had taken much care in giving them.)

_I wish you the best of luck, Harry, not only in this little adventure, but for whatever you plan to face. Your parents would have been extremely proud to know that you are taking responsibility for yourself—and it is useless for me to say that I am proud of you. Despite what you might think, saving the world is very, very, rare for most boys—but you are not a boy. And despite what people may tell you, you do not have to be superhuman to overcome the greatest evil, perhaps, that the world has even seen. Like Dumbledore is fond of saying, remember that your greatest attribute is _love_, and that is something Voldemort knows nothing about. _

_Remus Lupin_

_P.S. You are doing the right thing by going by yourself. Ron and Hermione will come to understand this._

* * *

**A/N**: It is really difficult to write in Harry's POV, like Ms. Rowling does, because he does not know things about himself. So I tried to make it clear why Harry's visit to Godric's Hollow is such an imperative point of his development and growing up by using Lupin's letter, without going into the corny side of things. This chapter is not something you would see in the real Harry Potter books, but humor cannot edge its way into this territory. For me, this is incredibly sad and poignant. Harry's adulthood is only something we've just been introduced to, and my story is to delve deeper into that. Although the genre may be action/adventure, I'd like it to expand on Harry really understanding himself before finding Voldemort. Really corny and stupidly ambitious, I know, but hey, writer's prerogative.

Oh—(sorry, long A/N) Ginny's OWLs are coming next chapter. I do not really like angst that much, so a chapter like this one will not make an appearance very soon or very often.


	6. Unexpected News

Harry sat folding and unfolding Lupin's letter nervously under the table, accepting vats of hot soup and platters of fried eggs from Mrs. Weasley without a murmur. Somehow word had meandered into the ears of the Weasley elders that Harry and Ginny were now something of an item. Considering how much he had overstayed his welcome throughout the years, they were taking it in stride. In fact, Mrs. Weasley took it as her job to make sure that her daughter's "sweetheart," as she insisted on saying, was alive and hearty. Harry was fed to a point bordering unhealthy levels each mealtime, but he thought it would be rather ungrateful of him to protest.

It was a happy scene to observe, the people sitting by him. He wondered if he would ever have a chance to join in, once he returned to Grimmauld Place. True, he would offer it up to the Order so that they wouldn't have to change headquarters, but how many warm and satisfying conversations could be held between Aurors who are either in hiding or preparing to go out into battle? Now that Sirius and Dumbledore were gone, it was not likely that any one would make it a point to talk and entertain him.

The stacks of toasts were quickly diminishing, and Harry felt a squirming monster erupt into life in his stomach. He wanted to tell the rest of the Weasleys of his plan once they had finished eating, but he never counted on how fast they would eat. He supposed the twins were especially starved from weeks alone in a flat without their mum's cooking. It was hard to get annoyed at them snorting down kippers for eating too much. Usually they held whispered conversations, punctuated by soft and clever laughs. Since they came home for Bill's wedding, Harry noticed they weren't focusing too much on joke-making.

"Psst—Harry!" Harry took back that last thought. The meaning in George's two words was unmistakable. He looked up from the parchment on his lap, and found George and Fred looking at him with wide grins they were trying to hide from Mrs. Weasley.

"Don't look at us. It will only make it look suspicious," said Fred from the corner of his mouth. Harry returned to his eggs, and turned a fascinated ear to them. He had a sneaking suspicion that this had something to do with the joke shop.

George looked furtively around, resting his eyes on his mother slightly longer than anywhere else. Satisfied, he spoke again. "Now, normally, we would have you come down to Diagon Alley—"

"—But this is just too important to wait. We know what you're planning on doing, Harry." Harry's fork slipped on the greasy plate at this, and felt a justifiable spasm of anger.

Fred's tone was apologetic. "Our conscience is poking a stick at us for once, mind you, but when we lowered that wonderful ear of ours, we didn't know that it was you."

"We were sort of hoping that Tonks and Lupin would show more—ah—affection, if you know what I mean, if they were all alone. We thought that you, Ron, and Hermione were those two."

Harry inclined his head toward Fred, and continued to butter his toast silently. George gently toed what seemed to be a small rubber ball on the floor, and lifted his eyebrows pointedly. He slyly pushed Harry's napkin off when Harry caught on.

"Er—excuse me—" Harry muttered. "Napkin fell." He bent down to grab the ball, and saw Fred lowering his fingers with a note crumpled up in it. Harry snatched the paper, too, and surfaced. Ginny was looking at him confusedly, so Harry smiled back reassuringly, forgetting that the napkin was still on the floor.

With the second piece of parchment in his lap and the rubber ball in his palm, Harry put down his fork and ducked his head slightly when he thought no one was looking. He cautiously opened up Fred's note:

**This is our brand new product, hot off the lab **(Harry assumed that they now had a special room to contain their random blasts)** and not even on the shelves. It's another free sample. Use it wisely, Harry—we don't often give people our pranks to help guard their safety. And we don't often tell people to do _anything_ wisely, because that would be terribly hypocritical.**

The rest of the letter explained how the ball worked, but Harry already heard the details from Hermione. Looking up, he saw with shock that Ginny had her eyes narrowed, and the rest of the table was suddenly quiet. He glanced at Fred again, but a noncommittal look of innocence had graced the twin's face in the short space of time.

"What do you have there, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked mildly.

"Uh . . ."

"Aren't you going to tell your own girlfriend what's going on?" Ginny's eyes flashed dangerously. Harry remembered with a jolt that the napkin was still folded, limply, on the ground. He fidgeted and cleared his throat.

"I think this is a good time for me to tell you that I'm going to Godric's Hollow. You know, to visit the house and my parents' graves." He looked squarely at Ginny, who now widened her eyes in astonishment.

"You're leaving _now_?" she exclaimed. The same feeling that consumed him when he tried to break up with her at Dumbledore's funeral came back. Of course, he should have guessed that weeks together in the same house would bring them together, whether he wanted to or not. They simply drifted back into their relationship, but Harry was hesitant to bring up that topic again. Ginny's red hair floated crazily in front of her face, and she brushed it away impatiently, locking Harry in her gaze.

"Well—maybe not _now_, but in a few days," Harry continued, wanting to look someplace other than Ginny. Mrs. Weasley seemed to forget that she was ladling soup into Ron's tea saucer and not his bowl, but Ron wasn't noticing. Ron and Hermione were staring at each other, occasionally shrugging and gesturing at Harry.

"When did you decide you would do this, Harry?" said Mrs. Weasley. Her eyes filled with tears, and when she tried to wipe her cheeks, a fleck of creamy soup flew off from the ladle. She ignored this, which was very atypical of her.

"Harry's been thinking about it for some time, am I right?" interrupted Lupin. Harry nodded.

"Oh—Harry—" Harry just managed to let go of the fork dangling between his fingers before Mrs. Weasley threw herself at him, having narrowly avoided being impaled by the fork. A muffled protest was all Harry could achieve.

Mr. Weasley leaned over and seized his wife's hand away from Harry, who breathed a sigh of relief (and survival). She proceeded to honk into her apron before being lead away quietly by Lupin.

The rest of the table was deathly quiet, with Mrs. Weasley's sobbing reaching a discernable climax at certain intervals. Harry winced as he felt Ginny's glare pass over him.

"You're telling me today." Ginny's question ended in a flat statement. "You've been thinking over this for a long time and this is it."

Harry wondered why she was acting so angrily. He told her, didn't he? He mutely supposed that this was one of those feminine mysteries that Hermione forever had to patiently work out for him. Perhaps she deserved a more special announcement, made privately just for her? But then, so did everyone else. She couldn't possibly expect him to go through this multiple times.

"Ginny, we didn't really know for sure until today, either," Ron said loudly. Beside him, Hermione grimaced. Ginny's hair tossed lightly in the air as she swiveled to face her brother.

"He told you first?"

Harry thought he heard Hermione whispering, "Ron, you idiot, now look what you've done." Ron turned red around the neck and mumbled something incoherent.

"Why wasn't I there, Harry?" Ginny said. "Why wasn't I there when you told Ron and Hermione?"

"You—you were—sleeping," Harry stumbled lamely. She kicked him under the table. "I mean . . . well, Ron thought that if you heard from me privately, you would make up your mind to follow me."

"So you chose breakfast time to break this news _publicly_, hoping that our mum's presence would stop me from doing anything foolish. Ron, since when did I become so predictable to you?"

"Since you came to the Burrow from St. Mungo's," Ron said, "and because I'm your _brother_."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Ron, but mum's not in this room." What was _that_ supposed to mean? Harry had a feeling that there was more to this. "I'm still going with Harry."

"Ginny, don't do anything foolish." Mrs. Weasley briskly trotted up to the kitchen, although telltale signs of tears dampened her apron. Lupin followed behind. "This is very important for Harry to do alone; why else would he have gone through this trouble to tell you?"

Lupin nodded from behind Mrs. Weasley, and Harry guessed that he had just told her everything.

"What's so important that he has to do this alone? Mum, Hermione, you two both know that Harry has that martyr in him. We went through this at Dumbledore's funeral, remember?" Ginny said, angrily pushing away Ron's hand. "There's nothing you should have to do alone!"

Hermione suddenly stood up and seized Ginny on her shoulder, jutting her chin out to the room Lupin and Mrs. Weasley emerged from. "There's something you should know before you say things like that, Ginny. We care about Harry too, you know!"

Ginny numbly let herself be shoved along by Hermione. Harry stared down at his plate, knowing that about ten pairs of eyes were trained upon him. He realized that he distinctly hated having other people talk about him. Granted, it was not exactly behind his back, but he had suffered enough of "the Chosen One, _by Rita Skeeter, special correspondent,"_ and the likes. He did not appreciate people holding whispered conversations drenched in pity and shallow understanding about him. Fred and George finally broke the silence.

"You have the (cough) in your pocket, right?" George said. "Read the (cough) too."

Fred winked at Harry. "And if anything happens en route to or at Godric's Hollow, and you live to tell about it, then—well, our work here for you is done."

Mrs. Weasley shot a dangerous glare at her twin sons. "Fred!"

"The free sample's yours, anyway," he whispered while George quickly spoke an excuse. Ron appeared to be looking at something outside of the window.

"Look!"

The dozen or so pairs of eyes moved to the window, where an official-looking owl flew in cleanly. With an undeniably smug gesture, it smoothed down its wings with a ruffle of its head, and confidently held out its left leg after perching on the windowsill. Mr. Weasley hurried over.

"Ginny's OWL results," he said tersely. As if she somehow magically heard the words from the other room, Hermione stuck her head out.

"What?" Ginny shot into their view as Hermione pushed her out, looking more eager than Ginny. Ginny blinked and turned her head to Harry, mutely acknowledging his decision. She calmly accepted the letter from Hermione, who was obviously itching to see if anyone of the Weasleys would best her.

Yet again, a tense silence stuffed the kitchen until it was likely to squeeze out of its corners. Mrs. Weasley looked as if she couldn't take another shock at this level. Harry was glad when everyone continued to stare at Ginny instead of him. She drew out a beige piece of parchment, and the owl fluttered away pompously.

Hermione, disappointed at the fact that the paper wasn't see-through, cried out after a few moments, "Well?"

A sniff came in response, as well as the letter. It slid the length of the table to Mr. Weasley's place. He slowly flipped it right side up, and glanced over it.

"Well done, Ginny." Mr. Weasley smiled at his daughter. "Nine OWLs." He clapped exuberantly, like a child given a reward at the end of a difficult day. The letter was tossed to Mrs. Weasley in turn, who stood up to hug Ginny. Hermione, Ron, and Harry put their foreheads together to see the results.

**ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS**

**_Pass Grades Fail Grades_**

OUTSTANDING (O) POOR (P)

EXCEEDS EXPECTATAIONS (E)DREADFUL (D)

ACCEPTABLE (A) TROLL (T)

**_Ginevra Molly Weasley has achieved:_**

Astronomy O

Care of Magical Creatures E

Charms O

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

DivinationA

Herbology E

History of Magic E

Potions E

Transfiguration O

_Well_, Harry thought, _I always knew she was cleverer than me_. Ginny snatched the paper away from Hermione before Harry could compliment her on it, and tried to frown.

"My grades are supposed to be private, you see," she remarked, "So I don't exactly appreciate having you guys stick your faces into it this way." Harry could tell, though, that she was secretly pleased. Hermione looked even happier, although probably not for Ginny.

"You—you did really well," squeaked Hermione. She stuck her hands in her pockets, as if not knowing what to do with them.

"She means, she's glad that you did good, but gladder that she still holds the record." Ron shook his head, apparently resigning himself to Hermione's obsessive academic competitiveness. Hermione muttered a quiet protest, but kept her shining eyes on the floor.

"Well, you did better than I did, Ginny," Harry said, smiling slightly. Ginny did not smile back, but gave him an appraising look. Harry understood this to be her approval and gratitude. He felt an urge to go to her and hug her or kiss her on the cheek, but obviously this was out of the question, her parents keeping an attentive eye on both of them. They stood like this, Harry cracking a grin almost leery from trying to express more than he could, Ginny staring coolly back. Lupin and Tonks stood up, too, since no one was sitting with them. Mrs. Weasley did not even look while her wand swept the table clean.

"Molly, thanks for having us over," said Tonks. "We'll be leaving soon."

"So soon?" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley automatically. "But you just came!"

"We have business for the Order," Lupin said shortly. He shrugged on his coat and helped Tonks with hers. "That was a lovely wedding, Arthur."

No one said anything in reply, because there was never anything to discuss when it came to the Order of the Phoenix. The void caused by Dumbledore had the members scurrying for unity and organization, and Grimmauld Place was still vacated. Harry reminded himself that once he returned from Godric's Hollow, he would have to open its doors again. There was also the problem of Kreacher, who was probably back, and Mundungus Fletcher, who Harry suspected was still nicking Black family heirlooms. Lupin conjured his and Tonks's luggage and Apparated, arm linked with hers. Harry fingered the precious letter in his pocket, and felt a flood of warmth towards his old professor and his father's old friend.

* * *

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione retreated to Ron's room after breakfast. Ron's orange room blasted into view familiarly, but not even Hermione bothered to blink furiously or make a snide comment. The absence of the attic-dwelling ghoul made a giant silence that they struggled to fill by taking longer than normal to settle in a chair or jump on a bed. Someone coughed, and someone else shuffled their feet. Harry was just about to open his mouth, albeit hesitantly, when Ginny and all of her glorious auburn hair flew into his face. He imagined that Ron was shocked into immobility and Hermione into a helpless noise.

"Ginny!" Harry adjusted his hands apprehensively around her, and prayed that Ron would not attack him when he recovered.

* * *

**A/N**: Sorry, it's been a while, but at least it's quite long . . . things will be getting more exciting later. Again, thanks for the reviews! Oh—and, incidentally, that really is Ginny's full name. I looked it up, and seeing as she's the first daughter in many Weasley generations, she must be very clever in her studies. That's why I was very liberal with her grades. 


	7. The Sailing Ship

Harry was in that position for some time, trying not to let Ginny press too hard against him. He could feel her chin on his shoulder, trembling and adjusting the curve of it to fit the hollow of his collar bone. And he was also acutely aware that his arms were around her.

Ginny moved her head slightly, giving Harry a better view of what was happening in the room beyond the red cloud of hair. He swallowed nervously. Ron was frozen in a position that would have allowed for him to spring at Harry, if not for Hermione having wrapped her arms tightly around Ron's chest and stomach. They, too, looked as if they were discovered in an act that was neither anticipated nor appropriate, but one that was an accident. **(A/N: I really don't mean to abuse alliteration like this, I really don't. It seems I have an automatic thesaurus/dictionary in my head that glibly churns out words alphabetically.)** Ginny stopped sobbing into his neck, but did not release him.

Harry and Ron and Hermione didn't blink for longer than could be healthy. Harry merely stared back at them, forgetting for an instant that his best friend's younger sister was entwined in an impromptu embrace with him. This was forgivable, because, after all, this fact was facing headlong the other fact that his two best friends were entwined in another impromptu embrace with each other.

Something downstairs moved noisily, and Ginny stiffened. Harry considered rubbing her back (to _comfort_ her), but thought better and patted her lightly. She chuckled and pulled herself away from him.

"Boy, you really must value Ron's friendship," she said, smearing the back of her palms against her eyes. She laughed again, and spoke before turning around. "Ron, just to let you know, he's quite the gentleman even when you're not around us, but he's not _this_ clumsy."

Harry wondered what he could say in reply, but hastily turned his thoughts toward what he could possibly say to prepare her. She let go of Harry's hand and turned to face Hermione and Ron.

"What . . . ?" Ginny immediately swiveled around to face Harry again, as if unwilling to let her brain process the image. Harry silently turned his palms upward in a small shrug. He, too, wondered why they remained so for such a long time. The inward spectator in him sniggered; _ah, that's because they're _unwilling_ to move from that position. They seem to be quite comfortable, thank you very much._

Ginny inhaled sharply, and Harry realized that his eyes were very dry. He blinked. In that split second, Ron and Hermione flew apart and managed to cross to opposite sides of the room in one significant bound.

"I can't believe I was wiping my eyes with your T-shirt while this was happening," Ginny commented dryly to Harry. "Here I was, pitying _you_!"

"Pitying?" Hermione managed to croak out. She cleared her throat. "What do you mean, _pitying_?" Ron clawed at the wall behind him unconsciously.

"You won't understand what's going on between you and him," Ginny said, pointing at the wall, "If it smacked your heads together and gave you a pamphlet. Even if it's so obvious to everyone else." Ginny pursed her lips, which was threatening to curve slyly up her cheek.

Ron looked despairingly into a murky brown stain in the carpet next to his feet. Hermione blanched and extended her arms behind her to make sure that the bed still existed for her to collapse upon. Harry coughed.

"Ginny, why don't we take—er—a moment outside," he whispered pointedly. He arched his eyebrows conspiratorially at Ginny, having now regained control of his head. Harry sensed that Ginny needed to be comforted, although her defiant self would never admit it. And while masking his concern with amusement, he could let Ron and Hermione work it out together in private. Something monumental and long-awaited was about to occur between them, and he wasn't about to ruin it with his presence.

Ginny gave a lingering glance at Ron before pushing Harry out the door. They were now in the empty hallway. A few soft laughs together later, they fell into a pause. The silence both downstairs and in the room they just exited was deafening.

"Where is everyone else?" Harry said, purposely avoiding the subject of the room, which would undoubtedly spawn another bout of giggles from Ginny and a kind of sickening enthusiasm within his stomach.

"Fred and George are probably back in Diagon Alley, or else they're eavesdropping again somewhere. But they have a shop to run, and Mum's been getting suspicious of them for a while." She pulled Harry a little farther away from the door. "Mum and Dad are out, I think, to some meeting at the Ministry. But they'll be back pretty soon—can't have us children running around by ourselves with Death Eaters on the loose now, can we?"

The sarcasm in her voice annoyed Harry slightly. Death Eaters _were_ on the loose, and they _were_ in danger. People were taking things too much for granted nowadays. He didn't let the edge creep into his own voice however, because he felt altogether like Moody. They needed to realize this very soon, and Harry made a mental note to talk to them seriously about this before he left.

"Are you okay?" whispered Harry. He leaned forward to brush a strand of hair away from Ginny's forehead. She sighed.

"I'm so sorry, Harry—I shouldn't have said things like that." She caught his hand in hers before he could let it fall back to his side, and looked earnestly into his eyes.

"Don't worry about it. You didn't know." He let himself be pulled closer to her. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

"About that. Harry, you've got to stop worrying about whether we'll get hurt or not," Ginny said in a fierce whisper. "We're in a world right now that makes it too easy for us to get hurt. You can't become consumed by it."

"I am not consumed by it." Harry leaned against the wall, folding his arms. First Ron and Hermione, and now Ginny. Did everyone else think he was twitchy, too? But then again, no one else had ever come face to face with Voldemort, and no one else escaped death as often as he did. Yes. That was it. It was very understandable.

"There's nothing you can do if anything happens to me," Ginny said, "Or anyone else you care for. You've got to get used to that idea—well, at least accept it. I won't have you slowly destroy yourself if I die."

"That won't happen, because I won't _let_ you die."

"And that's just what I mean. I know that you aren't going to sit back and take it if I'm attacked right in front of you, but I don't want you to play the part of a hero and come rushing after me."

"If I don't do anything, who will?" Harry gritted his teeth. Ginny shook her head and slid down the wall to sit down.

"The rest of us aren't exactly helpless, Harry."

He squatted to sit next to her, knocking the wall in the process. He and Ginny looked at each other, alarmed, and pressed an ear to the door.

"I guess it's too much to hope that you have an Extendable Ear in your pocket somewhere?"

"These are my best friends!"

"You're trying to eavesdrop anyway," she pointed out, peered into the keyhole. Harry grudgingly admitted that she had a point; not using an Extendable Ear, however, made it harder. He supposed this was his conscience's justification.

"Damn, something's blocking the hole," Ginny whispered, fingers trailing to the doorknob. She glanced mischievously at Harry, who crouched down close to her, wincing at the cracking of his knees. Ginny placed her hands on the knob, about to turn it.

"No—wait—" Harry placed his hand over hers, and used his free hand to point a wand at the knob. "_Silencio_!"

"Of course. Now . . ." Ginny and Harry turned the doorknob together painfully slowly. Harry couldn't see anything through the widening crack because she was kneeling in front of him, but suddenly Ginny shook off Harry's hand and flung the door wide open.

Obviously Ron and Hermione found themselves caught at something, because they were once again spread out into opposite corners. They were breathing heavily and avoiding each other's eyes. Ginny strode into the room, hands on her hips. She turned to Harry.

"Should we tell them that we aren't stupid?" she asked, extending an arm to the two.

"We aren't stupid, Hermione, Ron," Harry replied flatly. "You're just lucky I didn't see what was going on."

"You mean, _we're_ lucky we didn't see it. Although I did catch a horrible glimpse," she murmured in a stage whisper to Harry. "Quite honestly, I never want to see my brother and my friend at it again. Ever. But I'll be nice. I'm actually going to _encourage _it."

"No comment." Harry marched up to Ron, who was cowering again into the wall. He clamped his hand on Ron's arm, and nodded to Ginny. She, in turn, grasped Hermione's arm, and pulled her roughly to the middle of the room. Harry had to prod Ron a little with his wand, but in the end they managed to make Ron and Hermione face each other.

"Now, we were right outside this room the whole time," began Ginny when no one else looked ready to say anything. "And we were getting a little worried about you guys. We heard _nothing_, not even sneeze. So we decided to take a peek."

"I put a silencing charm on the door," Harry offered, grinning evilly at his best mate. "If Ginny wasn't so surprised, we would have stood there, in the doorway, watching you guys, without getting noticed."

Hermione buried her face in her hands, and slouched weakly. Ginny reached up and wrenched her arms away from her head, thumping her back to straighten her. "It's proof of our friendship, Hermione, that I opened the door right away. Ron, there really is no point in trying to hide yourself—you're just too tall."

Harry and Ginny pushed them together closer, making in impossible not to look at each other. "Tell us—was that kiss an accident, or is it going to become something we've all been waiting for forever?" Harry said, walking back from them with Ginny. "We promise we won't tell Fred or George."

Ron moaned in helplessness. "Oh no."

"Do tell," Ginny called out from her comfortable spot in Ron's chair.

"Would you like to make an Unbreakable Vow with me about not telling the twins?" said Ron tentatively.

"Now, would you really want your own sister to die, Ron?" snapped Ginny. She motioned for him to go on. He swelled a bit, gasping in air, and then smiled. Hermione relaxed her shoulders.

"It's either that, or I'm killing you myself." Ron glanced quickly at Hermione, who turned a very pale pink. "Do we really have to say anything? I mean, didn't you guys see enough already?"

"NO!" shouted Harry and Ginny together gleefully.

"We-e-ell . . ." Hermione drew her words out, voice higher than natural, "I guess you're going to see more."

Ron's smile grew wider and more sheepish, and Hermione turned a darker shade of pink. Harry nodded, satisfied, but Ginny clapped her hands in delight.

"If I make the Unbreakable Vow with you, you also have to include 'staying together' as one of the requirements," Ginny added. "Because this has been much too long in coming, and I'm not about to taste only a sample."

Hermione gave Ron a peck on his cheek. "I'm not ready to die after our first argument."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but Harry shrugged. He wasn't too worried about them ending up mortal enemies, or acting disgustingly affectionate. The past year had taught him that much. He leaned back in his chair, watching Ron and Hermione sit down together on a sofa. The scene was nearing awkwardness when they all heard two loud cracks downstairs.

"They're back." Hermione stood up again, but Ron pulled her back down.

"Relax. It's not like they're going to come in here."

At that instant, when Ron and Harry and Ginny and Hermione were paired up nicely in cozy chairs, Mrs. Weasley stuck her head in.

"Nothing happened while we were gone, right?"

* * *

**A/N: I'd like to say a special thank you to **blue-buggy**, my first and most consistent reviewer! **


End file.
